


Good Luck Charm

by saeriibon



Category: Ace Combat
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29303361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saeriibon/pseuds/saeriibon
Summary: (Privatter repost, writing request from @AncientCatfish on Twitter)In between Operation Giant's Step and Operation Beehive, the remnants of Sol Squadron have a moment of tense respite.I've never written for these characters, so deepest apologies if there's anything OOC.
Relationships: Wit (Ace Combat)/Seymour (Ace Combat)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Good Luck Charm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [@AncientCatfish](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%40AncientCatfish).



Another glimmering mote arced across the purple-hued sky, splitting and scattering into the orange horizon.

Wit frowned, arms folded as he leaned against the worn masonry of the lower, eastern wall of Shilage Castle; its derelict, but imposing form watching over the rolling hills as they slowly sunk into twilight. He sighed, breathing in fresh air, so different compared to that of the EASA base.

It all would have been beautiful, if not for the fact that the lights in the sky were harbingers for disaster, and that the tentative reconstruction efforts on Shilage Castle were now being redirected to outfit it with anti-air weaponry.

After their defeat at Farbanti, the petty war between Osea and Erusea became the least of Sol’s worries. Hermann and Roald had been successfully rescued since then, but Mihaly was gone, following that damned scientist.

Wit’s frown deepened. He knew Mihaly had his reasons, he wouldn’t doubt that, but still… How could they alone be expected to defend their sister-nation now?

...

“Wit! There you are…”

“Seymour,” his face softened a bit, slightly raising a hand to greet his wingman as he trotted up the hill to take his place by Wit’s side.

“I figured you would be here,” Seymour stated matter-of-factly, staring up at the sky.

Wit blinked as he stopped leaning against the wall, “You were looking for me? Is something wrong? Is th-” His mounting panic was interrupted with a playful punch to the arm.

“You’re a real mother hen, y’know that?” Seymour teased, “I was looking for you and I’d say there  _ is _ something wrong.” He placed a hand on Wit’s shoulder, “You.”

“Me?”

“-Need a drink.”

Wit sighed, smirking wryly despite himself, “Seymour, I don’t think this is the time for drinks-”

“Comms are still down and both the Eruseans and Oseans are in a scramble,” Seymour assured with a hardened look, “I think you can afford at least one in the meantime. Come on.” He grabbed Wit’s wrist at that, lightly pulling him to the town that  surrounded the castle below.

* * *

“That reminds me… Remember when we tried to go fishing in the river after school?” Seymour smiled and stretched his leg out, bumping his foot against Wit’s as they sat across from each other in the crowded tavern’s corner booth. Ambient orange light glazed the cramped, but homely, establishment.

“I thought there weren’t any fish in there,” Roald mused, opting to stand beside the booth next to Hermann, “At least, none worth actually catching.”

“There aren’t,” Hermann, who sat beside Seymour, noted.

“You almost drowned,” Wit shook his head and smiled, “And you say  _ ‘we’ _ like it wasn’t  _ your _ idea in the first place.”

Seymour raised his hands, “Hey, silence is compliance.”

Wit looked away in mock indignance, giving his own small kick to Seymour’s leg, “I just wanted to see you get your comeuppance for acting like an idiot.”

Hermann and Roald laughed at that.

“Hah, harsh,” Seymour took another swig of beer from his flagon, covering a yawn as he set it back down on the table.

Hermann leaned back to look at the clock above the bar, “It’s getting late.” He swung his legs out from under the booth and stood, “I’m heading back to the barracks. Need to get up early tomorrow.”

“Mm,” Roald had to sidestep a little for Hermann to get out, “I think I’ll call it a night too. Are you two staying or…?” He motioned to Wit and Seymour with the glass of soda in his hand.

Seymour waved his hand, “For a little while longer, yeah,” he answered for the both of them.

“Alright. See you tomorrow, then,” Roald gave a casual two-finger salute before leaving with Hermann, the two expertly dodging through the crowd of increasingly rowdy patrons.

Wit watched them leave with a tired smile, “You’d think with how this place is, there wouldn’t be a continental power-struggle at our doorstep.”

“Again,” Seymour groaned, “I took you out so we could focus on anything other than that for once.”

“And I appreciate it, really, I do,” Wit looked down at his own drink, “It’s just…” he trailed off, unsure of what to lead off with: the satellites? Mihaly’s absence? Shilage and Voslage’s future? The-

“Overwhelming?” Seymour cocked an eyebrow.

Wit looked up and sighed, “Yes. Overwhelming is exactly it.”

“Hm,” Seymour pursed his lips, looking up at the ceiling, “Guess busy tavern was a bad idea then…” he mumbled.

“Did you say something?” Wit tilted his head.

Seymour downed the rest of his drink, fishing a few banknotes out of his pocket and tucking them under his flagon, “Yeah… I’ve got somewhere else I wanted to go to before hitting the hay.”

Wit leaned back in his seat, “A pub crawl, huh?”

“No, no. Something different. I hope… I think you’ll like it,” he assured when he saw Wit giving him a suspicious look.

_ ‘It’s hard to _ not _ like something when you’re around,’ _ Wit was tempted to quip, but he kept that thought to himself.

* * *

Some of the lights in the town had started to turn off earlier than usual in anticipation for any night air bombing attacks, leaving the few that were still on to sparkle across the placid river’s surface like fireflies.

Compared to the tavern, the air here was pleasantly cool, especially against the skin of Wit’s boozed-induced blush.

He and Seymour sat on the grassy banks, idly watching the water flow past.

“So, what do you think?” Seymour was the first to break the silence.

“... It’s quiet,” Wit laid down on his back, the grass providing a natural cushion for him. A few stars started to poke through the night sky, one shooting across briefly, another satellite fragment. He sighed and closed his eyes.

“For some reason, I get the feeling this is the first bit of actual rest you’ve had in a while,” Seymour started to pluck from the patches of clovers growing by his feet.

Wit smiled, eyes still closed, “You wouldn’t be wrong.”

“You ought to get more. You deserve it.”

“Do I?”

Seymour twisted the stems of the clovers he had picked around each other, making a bouquet-like arrangement with them, “You don’t think I, or the others, notice how hard you’ve been working your ass off?”

Wit scoffed, “It’s nothing compared to Mihaly, though.”

“True, true,” Seymour twirled the clovers between his thumb and forefinger, “But…”

“...’But’?”

When Wit opened his eyes, he found Seymour leaning over him, one hand braced next to his head. He felt his lips part, though for what reason he could not say.

“You don’t always have to keep comparing yourself to him,” Seymour furrowed his brow, “We’ve all made it this far already. I don’t want you throwing your life away just to one up the King.”

“Don’t worry… I’m not trying to ‘one up’ him, and I won’t die either,” Wit softly reassured.

Seymour huffed.  _ ‘That’s what you say, but…’ _ He gently tucked the clovers behind Wit’s ear, much to Wit’s amusement, but his smile faded when he saw that Seymour still kept a serious face, taking a moment to lightly drag his knuckles down Wit’s jaw before returning his hand to his side.

Wit’s voice was barely a whisper, “Seymour?”

“I want to give you a good luck charm.”

“The clovers?”

Seymour’s hard expression slackened, “Something stronger than that.”

He leaned down, slowly, stopping until the tips of their noses touched. He felt Wit’s breath against his lips, hitching for a moment before steadying, warm and soft. He waited a moment, then two, and when Wit didn’t pull back or push him away from either, he closed the distance between them.

Despite the sweet and heady taste in their mouths, the kiss was tentative, delicate.

“Sey… mour…” Wit murmured, placing a hand against Seymour’s cheek.

“Mm,” was all Seymour could afford as he pressed into the kiss more, arm wrapping around Wit’s midsection to pull him closer.

He nipped and licked at Wit’s bottom lip, coaxing his mouth to open enough to let their tongues brush against each other.

Wit flinched a little at the foreign sensation, but quickly eased into it, growing more and more familiar with the taste, the feeling.

Truthfully, he had never kissed, or been kissed before, but this felt inexplicably…  _ right. _

A small moan bubbled in his throat, and he felt Seymour’s lips curve into a smile against his.

Seymour reluctantly pulled away, the two of them panting. He could make out the dancing glint of moonlight in Wit’s eyes as they stared back at him, a faint cloud of steam escaping from his lips, still open in curious want.

“Quite the… lucky charm you have there,” Wit chuckled sheepishly after taking a few breaths.

“You have no idea how long I wanted to do that,” Seymour rolled onto his back next to Wit, “Figured now would be better than never, especially with… well, you know already,” he gestured vaguely above them.

Wit nodded, absentmindedly touching the bundle of clovers by his ear, “It was... nice.”

“If we’re still alive by the end of this, there’ll be more where that came from,” Seymour folded his arms behind his head.

...

“Seymour?”

“Yeah?”

“... Thank you.”

...

As they lay in silence, they both knew his gratitude wasn’t just for the kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> (just realized this fic can be a little sad if you take wit's death as canon Q_Q)


End file.
